To Kill a Mockingbird Go Set A Watchman End of Book Rewrite
by katysavanah13
Summary: Atticus Finch. A rolemodel for Jean Louise. But when Jean Louise realizes things about her father, how will she handle it? Scream in his face? As long as you've read Go Set a Watchman (the sequel for TKAM) you will surely love this short rewrite of the last few chapters. Please enjoy and give feedback if you'd like. :)


Go Set a Watchman – Rewrite

12/5/2018, Wednesday

 ***Many details in this story are from and inspired by the book _Go Set A Watchman_.* Enjoy!**

Anger fills up my mind like some kind of raging sandstorm. "You're the most self-centered, big-headed, racist man I've ever met! And my _father_ , of all people it has to be _you_!" I snort with unyielded redemption, throwing my arms in the air in a fit of anger.

He doesn't speak. There is only silence from Atticus, and this only angers me further. "Why don't you fight back? Why don't you tell me why you supported those men? What's wrong with my _father?_ "

"I told you why I sat with those men. You don't need me to tell you again, Scout." That is bologna. He has no good reasons so he made some up! What he came up with was only a pile of lies. He should be out of my sight. He doesn't have the right to speak to me; I'm saner than any person dwelling in Maycomb!

To add to this, he used my childhood nickname as if trying to calm me. "Don't you dare call me Scout. Only people I trust call me that." I want my words to sting visually, but he doesn't react. It's almost as if he's not even listening. "You're not even paying attention to what I'm saying! You're a horrible person. Why do you have to be my father? All you ever did was pretend to be the good man everyone thought you were. Everyone loved you. Why did you lie to us all this time? _Do you know what you're doing to me?_ "

He says nothing. He is silent again, lost to words, perhaps? I can feel the irritation radiating off me in waves. I want to scream. I will scream, at him. "I can't believe you! Do you know what it felt like to see that pamphlet on your desk, the pamphlet that was against negroes and that put them below dirt?"

"No, sweetie. I don't."

"Exactly! You don't think about anyone but yourself! You don't care how your stupid lies affect others, do you? You just be how you want to be and hide it from people, and then at the end you break their hearts anyway because they thought they knew you and they didn't!" My next words come out rashly; they just come out, and I don't feel bad at all when I howl them into his face.

"You're _just_ like Hitler! You just kill their souls instead of their bodies. You're the worst man I have ever known; GET OUT OF HERE!"

His gaze is calm; even a hint of pride seems to show behind his glasses. "I live here, Jean Louise. If you don't want to be in my company anymore, you know where the door is. Drive safe." With those words he breaks off his gaze and picks up a magazine on the small table beside his rocking chair. I stare as his arthritic hand begins to open it. It shakes lightly from the action as well as the pain it is surely feeling. He starts flipping through the pages, then stops and begins to read a few pages in.

It's as if he's completely forgotten what I said. What is he doing? Fuming, more words fly from my mouth. I don't think I could've stopped them even if I'd wanted to. "I can't understand you! You JERK! I HATE YOU!" With this, my hand grabs for the door handle and soon I'm outside, viciously closing the door with a slam and hoping desperately that it scares him. I hope he dropped that stupid magazine.

My uncle says, seriously, "You need to go pick up Atticus first."

"Are you serious? I can't do that!" Horror of this idea makes me rigid.

"What, are you afraid that he's going to strike you with a lightning bolt?"

"With what I said to him, yes." My hands shake in their folded position on my lap. I bring them toward me to wrap around my sides in hopes of hiding it.

He stares at me, sighing heavily in exasperation. "Have you met your father?"

I don't respond. After a moment Uncle Jack speaks up again.

"Go pick him up. He'll be getting hungry soon and someone needs to get him home if he's going to eat."

"Can't you pick him up?"

"I have other things to take care of." When I don't move, his eyebrows raise and his voice becomes stern. "Go ahead."

 _I can't face him. Not after all those things I said to him… I called him Hitler, for goodness' sake. How does he expect me to pick him up?_ But when Uncle Jack's gaze does not waver, I know I don't have options. My hand reaches blindly for the door and I pull myself out of the car. Mine is parked just a few spots away and I climb in.

The entire way there my hands are shaking with anxiety of what he will say to me, how he will look at me… _How he'll look at me. Will I be able to live with myself if he gives me a look of plain disappointment? What if the whole drive home is in upset silence?_ Thoughts like this rummage through my brain the whole way, and they only make my fears more real.

I park in the lot and shut off the engine. My legs won't move, nor my arms. _Get a move on, Jean Louise_ , I tell myself forcefully, and finally I get out of the car. Atticus must be inside.

The door is there, but it doesn't look welcoming. The funny thing is, it always used to look welcoming. Just not today. Not now.

Stepping uncomfortably up to the door, I turn the knob to open it and then step inside the building. The muted voices that I heard outside grow louder; for once in my life this raises my stress level and a nervous shiver runs down my spine. _There he is._

He's grabbing his gray hat from the rack and placing it atop his head when he sees me. My fears explode at this, making my hands sweat and setting a flushed look on my face, and I stay still where I am, a few feet away from him.

"Ready?" He begins walking toward me, a bit wobbly in some of his steps. I rush forward, grabbing his arm to help his balance, and we walk toward the door.

 _Ready? After all the horrible things I said to you and you just say, "Ready?"_ How he does it I can't be certain. How he so smoothly pretends nothing has happened, how he so smoothly uses small, insignificant words such as "ready" to make things seem okay.

Opening the door for him, I help him out, catching his weight when he almost slips to one side with a grunt. When he's steadied he pats my arm a couple times. "Thanks, Jean Louise."

My heart breaks. He didn't call me Scout. _It's because of what I said._

Finally, we've closed the door behind us and are walking slowly out to my car. Atticus's arm feels so much more frail compared to when Jem and I were young and still in school. This pains me as well. _Atticus is getting old. He's got the whitest hair a man could have and he's not in good shape anymore._ Moisture makes my eyes burn, but I try hard to blink it away.

He sits down on the seat once I've opened up his door. It's slow going, but soon enough he's sitting forward in his seat, trying his best to hold back any grunts of discomfort. I sigh and jump in on the other side. When I'm about to turn the key in the ignition, though, I feel the need to stop. I have something I need to say.

"What's the hold up?" my father asks from beside me in his gravelly, aging voice.

I turn to gaze at him. "Atticus?"

His eyes meet mine and he stills from trying to make the seat more comfortable. "Yes?"

"I think I love you very much."

His shoulders relax at my words. The momentary spark in his eyes shows a pinch of the feelings he is feeling now.

Atticus is a man whose emotions can be hard to guess, but I know that now, with that look in his eye, he is content. His shoulders relax, he nods to my words, and then I can see it. Relief.

"Let's get home, Scout."


End file.
